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LITTLE LEGENDS OF THE 

LAND 










J 

LITTLE LEGENDS OE THE LAND 

BY 

HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS j 



THE J. W. BURKE COMPANY 
MACON, GA. 











L-s 


Z. 


Copyrighted 1980 


V.. 


©CIA 


2227ld 



APR 23 1930 


J 


DEDICATED TO 


Mrs. Louisa A. Jemison 

OF 


TALLADEGA, ALA, 


PREFACE 


These verses, embodying little legends of 
the land, for the most part, have been com¬ 
piled from the columns of the Atlanta Jour¬ 
nal, Macon Telegraph, Atlanta Constitu¬ 
tion, Century Magazine, and other publica¬ 
tions, and relate to all stages of their au¬ 
thor’s life in the field of light literature. The 
object of this republication is chiefly to pre¬ 
serve them for their local color, and for such 
value as they may possess as part of the his¬ 
tory of his times. They will supplement his 
short stories, nearly a hundred in number, 
which are being gathered into volumes as 
collections; stories that deal with the ro¬ 
mance, tragedy, humor and pathos of south¬ 
ern life against an African background. 

The Publisher 












LITTLE LEGENDS OF THE LAND 


>---«• 

MACON 

Out of the east a star. 

Out of the morn the sun. 

Into the sunlight, one 
Silent to stand 

Looking down o^er the land, 
With his back to the Past 
And his hand holding fast 
To a flag brought afar ,— 

To a flag lifted high, 

A flame in the sky! 

Into the silence a dream 
Of a city to rise 
And fill 

The valley and climb 
Every hill! 

Column and fountain and dome 
And beauty sublime 
Of flower and fruit 
And green swards to team 

(9) 



lO 


Little Legends of the Land 


With the splendors of youth — 
Out of the silence a dream, 

Out of the dreaming 
HOME. 

Out of the silence the song 
Of the axe! 

The rifle*s crack! 

The clamor of battle! 

The echo of strife !— 

Into the silence beyond 
The fading away 
Of savage — 

Of the long, long day. 

Into the west its sun, 

Leaving a victory won, 

An empire begun. 

* * 5f: 3|e 

So was my Sweetheart born. 

Her feet to the kiss of the stream. 
Her lips to the rills. 

Her limbs reclined 
On the couch of the valley. 

Her pillow the hills. 



Little Legends of the Land 


11 


ON THE MOUNT 


These verses were written on the summit of Mount Talemeco, which 
overlooks Camp Wheeler, with the city of Macon in the distance. The 
tents and bugles referred to were those of the Dixie Division, which 
soon thereafter sailed for France. 

Macon, Georgia 
1918 

The mountain crest in crimson glow 
Broods o’er the rolling plain below, 

And waiting here I see afar 
A church spire and the evening star 
And by the pines my little home. 

The ghostly waves and spectral foam 
Of army tents run o’er the slope; 

They mark a mighty nation’s hope, 

Which soon across the warring sea 
Shall bloom, the flower of Liberty. 

Hark! ’tis the distant bugle call! 

How sweet the martial echoes fall ^ 

And rise and break and fade away 
Where beech and gum and stately bay 
Clasp hands above the mystery 
Of waters homing to the sea ! 

Those mellow notes—they bid the true 
In still salute, to stand and view 




12 


Little Legends of the Land 


A starry flag sink from the blue. 

And thrice ten thousand freemen lift 
In reverence to their grandsires’ gift 
White faces. ’Tis a famous sight 
The dying day bequeaths to night. 

But I, on these worn heights of stone 
In silence wait and stand alone. 

A church spire and the evening star, 

And drumbeats of an ancient war! 

Full fifty years have slipt away; 

There is a little boy at play, 

With gun of wood—tin bayonet;— 

With vagrant feather in his cap. 

Then tears of grief, and mother’s lap. 

And moisture in that mother’s eye; 

And whispered comfort, “Wait; not yet. 

You are too young! Forget—forget. 

You are not old enough to die!” 

The men in grey go laughing by:— 

The little boy, heart-troubled, mute. 

Stands by the way in still salute;— 

The gallant men go swinging by 
And they were not too young to die. 

For them fame’s trumpets through eternity; 
For him the silent tragedy,— 



Little Legends of the Land 


13 


To stand beneath the Southern sky 
Too young for Motherland, to die. 

The drumbeats and the mother’s fears 
Are hushed beyond the vanished years; 

The gallant men who went away 
Are sleeping in their tattered grey 
On many a hill, by many a stream. 
Enfolded in a finished dream. 

And now upon this hill of stone 
The little boy of yesterday 
Waits in the twilight all alone:— 

The little boy of yesterday. 

But time has clothed him, too, in grey. 

* * * * 

Lo ! now the evening star is gone 
And in her place a silver horn 
Hangs at the girdle of the west, 

And silver bugle notes are born 
That call the army to its rest. 

But, in a dream, across the sea 
The day dawns white. In Picardy 
A mighty army curves a shield 
Of valor ’round great Flanders field. 

They cheer and charge and charge again 
Through falling forests of Champagne;— 



14 


Little Legends of the Land 


With flaming gun they smite the Hun, 
They smite him by the crimson Marne; 

By Belleau wood; across the Aisne; 

They smite him in the dark Argonne; 

They break his lines and rush between 
His veterans and their fiery screen. 

With flashing steel they smite the Hun,— 
Like lightning from a cloudless sky 
They strike, and still his legions fly. 

And now the North laughs to the South, 
“Here is the land of old romance 
And you are young and this is France!” 
They look beyond the cannon’s mouth 
And answer with the rebel yell, 

“For France we storm the gates of hell!” 
They look into the cannon’s mouth 
And laugh in scorn as they rush by. 

But where they pass the gunners die. 

And now the South calls to the North; 
“Behold the rows of little graves! 

And you are young, and mothers, slaves!” 
There rolls a mighty answer forth; 

The answer is the thunder’s peal 
That shudders over grim St. Mihiel. 
With flashing steel they smite the Hun; 
Like lightning from a lurid sky 



Little Legends of the Land 


15 


They strike, and lo! his legions die 
And rot away from sun to sun! 

As in a dream, across the sea 
Peace reigns at last in Picardy, 

And crimson poppies trace the shield 
That curved around the Flanders field. 

No more for us Thermopolae, 

Nor ancient Rome, nor fabled Thrace; 

Our heroes are the lads from home 
Who wrote the records of their race 
Among the mountains of Alsace 
And called the lilies into bloom again 
In every valley of Lorraine,— 

Who gave the best that men can give,— 

Their blood, their lives, that France might live. 

As in a dream across the sea! 

Ah, there was fame’s eternity. 

And here the silent tragedy;— 

To stand beneath a fading sky 
Too old in God’s great cause, to die! 



Little Legends of the Land 


RONDELS—ROXILANE 


I 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays, 

She has not practiced overmuch. 

She soothes me with her wonder-touch 
And all her little music ways. 

Her art’s my jaded spirit’s crutch— 

Her minstrelsies and roundelays. 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 

She has not practiced overmuch. 

Old Wagner and the rag-time craze— 

She does not seem to care for such; 

But scythe of Time and Trouble’s clutch, 
And things I should regret, always 
I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 

II 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 

She has not what you’d call technique. 

Old dreams, they are at hide and seek 
Beyond a veil of mist and haze, 

And soft sweet kisses brush my cheek 
Blown back to me from youthful days. 

I quite forget when Roxie plays 



Little Legends of the Land 


17 


She has not what you’d call technique. 

Is it through June’s or wanton May’s 
Bloom-trellised bower, the perfumes leak?— 
Black vulture, Care, withdraws her beak 
From out my heart! To voice its praise. 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 

Ill 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 

It is not yet the hour of sleep. 

My dream-bark drifts upon the deep 
And silken sails the angels raise 
To waft it where the fairies keep 
The broken dolls of yesterdays. 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 

It is not yet the hour of sleep. 

Prince, name for me the cradle lays. 

My soul’s a-guess to sing or weep. 

Is it the winds or little voices keep 
Calling, calling through the maze? 

I quite forget, when Roxie plays. 



i8 


Little Legends of the Land 


LEGEND OF THE OLD CANTEEN 
1892 

“Within a mother’s room, there hangs beneath a 
single star, 

Two sheathed swords in memory crossed, that 
were not crossed in war; 

And, swinging from their rusting hilts, the hid¬ 
den blades between. 

Held by a little homespun band, there is an old 
canteen. 

A gray haired woman, standing where the sum¬ 
mer sun shone through, 

Told me this legend of two boys, whom poli¬ 
ticians slew; 

“One wrote before the war-cloud burst, when T 
forsook my state 

I swore to guard the Stars and Stripes, to turn 
now is too late. 

The other looked on Georgia’s flag, and said, 
whate’er betide, 

I’ll battle for my motherland—and chose the 
Southern side. 



Little Legends of the Land 


19 


“My soldier boy across the lines, a last farewell 
sent home, 

And blessed the choice of little Will: ‘Remem¬ 
ber, whatso’er may come;— 

The words were blurred where fell his bitter 
tears between,— 

‘We still are brothers,’—and he sent to us yon 
old canteen. 

“Its cedar sides were polished then, and bright 
the copper band; 

Will wore the day he rode away, the finest in 
the land. 

They brought him home, hurt in the side, the 
leather strap was gone— 

It turned the minie ball, that else had stretched 
him dead that morn. 

“From homespun that my own hands wove, I 
made the other strap; 

Will watched me as I sewed it on, his head 
within my lap. 

And kissed me when the task was done, draw¬ 
ing my face to his,— 

Ah, sir, that hour, no man may know what such 
a memory is! 



20 


Little Legends of the Land 


“When he was killed, they said he died a gallant 
soldier’s death. 

But, oh! my name was whispered there upon his 
dying breath; 

They found my boys at Seven Pines, my other 
son and Will; 

His head was on his brother’s breast, and both 
dear hearts were still. 

“The other sat against a tree, and smiling out 
afar. 

Where in the east there rose at last in peace the 
morning star; 

Around them was the homespun band, in blood 
upon its sheen, 

‘Mother;’—’twas the toast that drained yon bat¬ 
tered old canteen. 

“Well, I have learned to say at last that neither 
son was wrong; 

And give to Marion the name my lips refused 
so long; 

There was no war between my boys, and how 
could I withstand 

The smile that met the morning star the legend 
on that band ? 



Little Legends of the Land 


21 


“I am not stone; must I uphold tradition’s heavier 
part,— 

Must I, who may not wield the sword, go sheathe 
it in my heart? 

Oh, Christ forbid; a woman hath her mission to 
fulfill; 

Though systems change, though empires fall, she 
is just ‘Mother’ still. 

“Their trundle bed I’ve placed by mine, and often 
in the night 

I see their little curly heads sunk in the pillow’s 
white; 

And often, when the morning light grows gray 
upon the wall 

And winds are whispering in the trees, I hear 
them softly call,— 

I hear their baby voices call, and something all 
unseen 

Touches these old cheeks of mine, and stirs my 
old canteen! 

“Oh, Christ, dear Christ! thou knowest all; the 
grief, the ceaseless strain. 

The silent tears that inward fall, and life’s un¬ 
ending pain— 



22 


Little Legends of the Land 


All but the bitterness of loss that is the woman’s 
doom— 

The last to linger by Thy cross, the first to find 
Thy tomb!” 

She ceased, and through the casement wide I saw 
the sunlight fall 

On spreading field and distant hill, and heard the 
song birds call; 

And underneath a single mound beside a lich- 
ened stone 

That wore a crown of humble flowers, and kept 
its watch alone. 

She drew me to the casement wide, and pointed 
to the sod:— 

“One stone, one wreath, one grave, oh friend, 
and they are one, with God!” 

So runs the legend, and this thought blooms with 
the rose today, 

’Twas human wish that God should judge be¬ 
tween the blue and gray; 

But still o’er them he sets his stars, and bids his 
sunlight fall. 

And, right or wrong, the heart of Christ is big 
enough for all. 



Little Legends of the Land 


23 


“Oh, mother hearts, ye hold heaven’s love as the 
lilies hold its dew;— 

This Southern woman, heed her well, she read 
the message true. 

And if we take the word from her, while this 
dear land shall live. 

One wreath may prove we can’t forget, and prove 
me do forgive. 

And when the vernal season comes, this sacred 
duty ours,— 

To help the old earth-mother hide, her wounds 
beneath her flowers! 

There is no war between the brave, who sleep 
beneath the sod. 

And so may living brothers leave the future unto 
God. 



24 


Little Legends of the Land 


A WARRIOR HORSE 

I sing the glory of a warrior horse, Logan his 
name ; 

Forgotten save by grim veterans in gray 

Who, following the red flags of battle, shared his 
fame. 

And came with him through victory and defeat, 

The long, long way; 

And by a woman, under the blue of Alabama skies, 

Who whispers memories, and smiles through 
starry eyes! 

Hi 5|C SK * 

Logan! Whence came the name? Was it of that 
great Mingo chief. 

Who fought the Indian’s home-defending fight. 

His gallant life, so grandly brave, so brief, 

Lost in the darkness of Time’s uncharted night? 

Whence came the spirit, proud, deep courage of 
the hero-heart? 

Not from plodding drawers of the plow, content 
with food and drink; 

Nor was he of meek slaves of lumbering vans 
a part— 

Not Logan I Him of the lifted head and dancing 
feet! I think 



Little Legends of the Land 


25 


Th’ unconquered mountains, freedom of the open 
plains, 

Spoke from the depths of his undaunted eye; 

That in his veins King’s Mountain voiced a bugle 
call. 

And in his dreams he heard ancestral feet on fields 
of battle fall; 

And saw great Marion’s men in the wild charge 
go by! 

Not Logan!—Behind him Balaklava, Waterloo, 
the far Crusade; 

The royal tilt yard; fierce Moor; the Cavalier of 
Spain! 

And Afric sands, with sun aglint on spear and 
circling blade; 

And swifter than cloud-shadow, and the pursuing 
rain. 

A Barb, out-speeding both across the level plain. 

* ^ * ’I' 

I sing the valor of a warrior horse; Logan his 
name! 

Out of the Anglo-Saxon past of Robert Lee he 
came. 

And of Shiloh, by the great river, where Southern 
armies fought! 

And, through blazing battlefield, a great horse 
brought 



26 


Little Legends of the Land 


His master; and message with vital meaning 
fraught! 

From left to right, a glorious sight he came, 

An arrow shot along a sea of flame. 

None halted him. Nor bayonet, nor shell, nor 
minie ball 

Could bring the gallant warrior to his knee. 

Who out of the Anglo-Saxon past had followed 
Robert Lee. 

He did not flinch, he did not fall! 

But when the race was o’er, his journey done. 

He stood beneath the sheltering trees 
To watch the life blood from his deep wounds run. 
Yet, ever alert, his noble head, when on the breeze 
Came ringing cheers of triumph won ? 

* Sk 5^ * 

I sing of Logan; and the old plantation. 

And a furloughed horse reveling in rich green 
grass; 

And of honorable wounds, now healing fast; 

Of arms full oft round his neck flung; 

Of glorying in his presence, arid his past! 

To duty faithful! To love forever true,— 

Logan, who swam a sea of flame 
And brought the Master through! 



Little Legends of the Land 


27 


And now again grim duty calls. Old Logan’s at 
the front! 

His feet they beat on battlefield; riders in gray 
flash past, 

Where Wheeler bears the battle’s brunt, 

And Forest swells the wintry blast with thunders 
of the hunt. 

And the years pass by; and few the battle flags; 

And few the southern heroes who still fight on 
in rags! 

But with them yet, great Logan ! his thinning body 
scarred. 

Or wounded o’er and o’er; and out upon the grass, 

Waiting the last fierce threat of death to pass. 

And then, one summer day—never to be forgot¬ 
ten day— 

Adown the dusty road, skeleton horse and skeleton 
rider come. 

Logan, the unconquered, bringing the Master 
home 1 

5je ♦ ♦ ♦ 

I sing of Logan, veteran grown old. 

Loving his folks ’cross the tall lot gate— 

Questioning with ears that cannot hear 

Master and Mistress, and children dear. 

Patient of fate! 



28 


Little Legends of the Land 


And sometimes, at night when thunders roll, and 
lightnings flash, 

Breaking the bars to dash with blazing eyes, 

With flowing tail and tossing mane. 

And stand, head up ’neath the flaming skies. 
Answering the battle call again! 

5 |« * * 

And then the noon when the house was still. 
And the Mistress adoze in her easy chair, 

A horse’s head crossing the window sill. 

And soft lips touching her fading hair. 

And a great frame slowly crumpling down 
Under the shade of a friendly tree!— 

I sing of knightly chivalry,— 

Of Logan, the faithful, the brave, the fleet. 

His devoir done, the victory won. 

Laying his life at his lady’s feet! 



Little Legends of the Land 


29 


BUTTERFLY AND MOTH 

Beneath my casement ledge at eve, 
The lily nods her drooping head; 
She careth not enough to grieve 
For lover lost on wings outspread. 
He fanned her cheek the hot noon day; 

He stole the nectar of her lips; 

He spied afar the sweet cowslips,— 
He kissed her and he sailed away. 

Oh, love of mine! oh, love of mine! 

Because it sets the spirit free 
The night to me is all divine 
And sleep is silent ecstasy! 

The wings outspread in search of thee 
Need never sun nor star nor chart; 
At eve they beat o’er land and sea. 
And fold above thy heart. 



30 


Little Legends of the Land 


AT THE CROSSING 

Sailorman! sailorman! hearken to me, 

Your face looks out of a memory, 

The frame, it is broken, the moment is lost, 

But somewhere, friend, our paths have crossed. 
There’s a racing sea and a lowering sky. 
There’s a flaming soul and a courage high,— 
The frame, it is broken, the moment is lost, 

But somewhere, sometime our paths have crossed. 

“Courage? Why Mister, you listen to me! 

I’ll spin you a yarn of the Southern sea;— 

Ever look down in a terrier’s eye? 

Look! It will teach you how to die. 

I’ve seen men drown in a bitter gale. 

I’ve seen ’em swept by a leaden hail, 

I’ve seen ’em choke at the end of a rope, 

An’ slip from a spar with never a hope. 

But say, if you want to know how to die, 

Ask of the soul in a terrier’s eye. 

The cheers an’ the drums an’ the bugle calls. 
They brace when the rotten spirit falls; 

The priest an’ the nurse’s cool, soft hand 
Are good on the edge of the shadow land— 



Little Legends of the Land 


3 * 


But what has he got? Why, nothing at all, 

Does he hedge when he gets the final call? 

No! He is the hero of us all! 

Old Bill’s tyke was battered an’ worn, 

A uglier terrier never was born; 

But say, in the depths of that critter’s eye 
Was the lesson to all of us,—how to die. 

It was half way down to Manila bay 
In the tail of a storm on a winter day 
They slid Bill over the good ship’s rail, 

No loss of steam,—no shortened sail, 

He went straight down in his mummy sheet 
An’ hit the water at twenty feet. 

Just a weight to his heels an’ a prayer over head, 
“God bless you, Bill.” It was smallpox, they said. 
But that game little devil, that onery tyke. 

He saw ’im go an’ he heard ’im strike. 

One jump an’ he hung on the narrow rail; 

Not a look to the sky nor the swellin’ sail. 

Not a look to the waves, half a mountain high,— 
Just a low soft whine, a dog’s love-cry,^— 

God! but I hear it soundin’ still!— 

Just one,—an’ he plunged to hunt for Bill. 

Cries of horror—a jibberin’ crowd; 




32 


Little Legends of the Land 


Runnin’ an’ jumpin’ an’ shoutin’ erloud 
“Stop! Stop!!” “Turn back,” “Oh, lay-to the 
ship!” 

An’ a man with a check-book tearin’ a slip!— 

A diamond offered!—a open purse:— 

Screams of a woman, an’ a sailor’s curse 
As he broke from the bunch an’ whistled an’ cried 
For the dumb brute friend of a pal that had died. 
But the Captain dashed a hand to his eye,— 

“No use! Too late! We’ve passed him by. 

The muck an’ the ruck an’ the foamin’ wave,— 

No eye could find ’im, no hand can save!” 

Tears? You’re a liar! I wouldn’t know how! 
What are you after?—startin’ a row? 

Move on I move on! or you’ll hear me tell,— 
Tears? Where’d you come from?—^Who’n the 
hell?— 

Sailorman! sailorman! hearken to me. 

Your face looks out of a memory; 

The frame it is mended, the moment, not lost, 
’Twas down to’rd Manila that our ways crossed, 
’Twas there that I looked in a terrier’s eye 
And saw him teach men how to die. 

And I read that night in the captain’s log 
“Rescued a sailor who dived for a dog.” 



Little Legends of the Land 


33 


THE DREAMERS 

Dreaming! dreaming! dreaming! What though 
the race be run 

And no glory come to greet us, or the fight seem 
never won, 

The clouds are never conscious when the sun toils 
hot on high. 

Yet they keep his mem’ry grandly in many a sun¬ 
less sky. 

Ah! when Life’s battle’s ended, and her evening 
flags are furled. 

None ’neath them w'ill sleep more sweetly than the 
dreamers of the world! 



34 


Little Legends of the Land 


A TOAST TO THE GEORGIA GIRL 

Here’s to the land of the sun and the rose, 

God finished it last and He called it good; 

He had fashioned it all, winds, waters and wood, 

In the heart of Himself, and He knows! 

Here’s to the land of the rose and the sun, 

He blest it with life that gives and glows, 

And He said when the wonderful work was done, 
“It is good, it is good,” and God knows. 

Blue of the sky and the bluebird’s wing. 

Red of the cardinal’s royal cloak. 

White of the white-barred bird that sings 

The song of all songs, from the crest of the 
oak— 

Grace of the bending, beckoning corn. 

Voice of the thrush where the shadows rest,— 

He took from them all, and a babe was born. 
That laughed to the sun from her mother’s 
breast. 

Here’s to the babe of the sun and the land. 

That leaped from the cot where destiny rocks; 
With lengthening limbs and wind-tost locks— 



Little Legends of the Land 


35 


Behold her the answer to God’s command! 

Joy of all history, born and unborn, 

Sum of all melody, music and mirth,— 

Here’s to the link between heaven and earth. 
The star, the star in the path of the morn! 

She came when the anchor took hold of the soil 
And the axe was laid for the cabin sill; 

She was here when the savage met conquering 
will. 

And she staid through the years of blood and of 
toil. 

The holy Book on the shelf was her own, 

Her finger traced ev’ry immortal line; 

By the hearth’s dim light, and a faith divine, 

She found us a way to the foot of the Throne. 

Spirit of battle, behold her where 

The Souths red banner o’er bloody fields toss; 
Behold her when nothing remains but its cross. 
And death-wings beat in the choking air 1 
The girl standing over her hero dead. 

Sings the chanson of war, to the shriek of the 
shell. 

And the gory flowers where he fought and fell 
In memory weaves for the soul that has fled! 



36 


Little Legends of the Land 


Spirit of peace, behold her still, 

With deathless courage and undimmed eye. 
Planting anew with never a sigh— 

Building a state on a woman’s will. 

And naught she loses that ever was hers. 

For she harvests it all in the souls of men; 
Though it seem to vanish, it will live again 
In the thought that thrills, in the deed that stirs. 

For girl and woman are ever one. 

The keeper of life’s far mystery; 

She lives in you and she lives in me 
And through us all her purposes run. 

Oh! blest is the land where the woman is true— 
The tablet of brass hath a season of grace. 

But she writes herself in the blood of a race 
And the years all her glories renew! 

Then here’s to the land of the sun and the rose. 
The immortal rose in the heart of man— 
Mother planted it there when his life began. 
Hid away from the winds and the snows. 

With crystal dew in a chalice of pearl, 

Here’s to the fairest flower that grows; 

Here’s to the wonderful Georgia girl. 

To the land of the sun and its rose I 



Little Legends of the Land 


37 


LOST. 1907. 

I lost my baby girl today— 

“Dear friend beyond the radiant sunset skies”— 

—Never will she return to me: 

Never will her encircling arms surprise 
Nor baby lips their winning smiles display! 

’Tis not as though she sails a summer sea 
To wander for a space : for she— 

“Grieve not dear heart, death is sweet sleep. 

“In that far land where all our dreams come true 
“She bides, and faithfully fond watch she’ll keep, 
“Awaiting you! 

Ah no! Today she entered seventeen. 

Let down her skirts to hide her slippers play. 
Wrought up her hair, two vagrant curls between 
In wakened Psyche’s way; 

Saluted me with grave and rev’rent mien,— 

I lost my baby girl today! 



38 


Little Legends of the Land 


ELIZABETH 

(To a little Savannah Girl) 

Who went with me one winter day 
To Isle of Hope across the way, 

And watched the little wavelets play 
Upon the river, out in front. 

Round sail boat, launch and little punt,— 
And helped me for the acorns hunt? 
Elizabeth! 

Who sat beside me on the seat? 
Elizabeth! 

And when I walked, whose little feet 
Kept time with mine along the street? 
Whose pretty eyes looked up, so sweet. 
When head and face and slender throat 
I sheltered with my overcoat? 
Elizabeth’s! 

Who gave me half her chewing gum. 
And set my heart to racing some. 

And made me perfectly at home. 

And more than glad that I had come— 



Little Legends of the Land 


39 


And when we left the lighted cars, 

Looked up and kissed me neath the stars? 
Elizabeth! 

Who is Elizabeth? Why, now! 

She’s just the finest girl I know 1 
I do not call her Lize, or Liz, 

Nor Lizzie, Bettie, Beth, nor Bess; 

Hers is the sweetest name that is,— 
My chapeau swinging to the ground. 
With whispered reverence profound 
I name her with my courtliest bow,—■ 
ELIZABETH! 



40 


Little Legends of the Land 


THE REED AND THE CROWN 
To Sidney Lanier 

Red Eric sat on his carven throne; 

His Queen was dead; his peace had flown. 

For love of her who lay in state 
His warrior heart was desolate. 

A shadow slept on castle and town 
And for many a league, the country round, 
The people’s sports were hushed, and still 
Was the valley, and silent the mill. 

“Who knocks at the portal?” Red Eric cried; 
The aged seneschal replied; 

“A ragged one, your Majesty, 

His only weapon a hollow reed 

Through which he murmurs a mystic screed. 

He craves to enter thy castle hall.” 

“Now by my crown,” the king replied. 
Whose aching heart was sorely tried, 

“The beggar must come by the postern gate : 
He enters not here in my hall of state! 

Bid him go round by the castle wall; 

There sound, and for a menial call!” 

Red Eric sat on his carven throne; 



Little Legends of the Land 


41 


Except for grief he was alone. 

For his dear Queen lay in silent state 
And all the court was desolate. 

The armed guard stood with bended head 
From the courtier’s face the smirk had fled; 
And into the eyes of the women there 
Were the gloom and the doom of a dark despair. 
“Who shouts in my courtyard?” Red Eric cried; 
The aged seneschal replied: 

“The wanderer came through the postern, sire, 
As thou in thy wisdom did’st require; 

His clansmen hear the song of his reed, 

And pledge him loud in the sparkling mead! 

For he wakens the music their childhood knew— 
Songs of their youth when hearts were true. 

And such is his wonderful minstrelsy, 

Each stands again by his mother’s knee. 

Or hears the maid to the cattle call. 

Or the lark’s song down from the heavens fall!” 

Red Eric stepped from his carven throne. 

And silence reigned in the hall of stone; 

The silence that waits on a monarch’s will 
When the power is there to save or to kill; 

The armed guard lifted his bended head; 

On the courtier’s face was the shadow of dread; 



42 


Little Legends of the Land 


And waited all, with their eyes on him: 

What now, Red Eric’s newborn whim? 

“Bring hither the beggar!” he gave command; 
“There, by the portal, bid him to stand! 

And fails he here to waken my past. 

By the Cross of the Christ, the hour’s his last!” 
The wanderer came slowly, all undismayed. 

And, lifting his reed, a song he played. 

Of a man’s mad dream and a maiden fair, 

Of the glinting lights in her fragrant hair, 

Of red lips that clung in a rapture wild. 

Of a young mother’s croon to her lily child. 

Of a white spirit fled into realms above^— 

A wistful, wonderful song of love. 

Red Eric trembled as there he stood. 

His vision drowned in a rushing flood; 

And those who gazed saw a wonderful thing— 
Tears on the beard of their fierce king. 

Then quick he plucked from his royal head 
His crown of jewels, white, green and red; 

The fires of youth flashed back to his eyes. 

Like a day’s last flame in the winter skies. 

Gone was the bite of his bitter pride. 

When he stood by the drooping wanderer’s side. 
And the sudden sun through a casement broke 
With the gift of a smile and a radiant cloak. 



Little Legends of the Land 


43 


“Behold!” he said, “Thou art King of Song, 

A king shall lighten thine ancient wrong I 
Not one hour could my scepter hold fast, 

Yet thou in a reed can’st imprison the past!” 

He fain would have crowned the bended head. 
But the minstrel sank to the pavement, dead; 
And the king’s fool, parting the raiment laughed. 
That deep in his breast was a broken shaft! 

Red Eric bent low o’er the sad white face. 

One sacred spot in that wilful place. 

Wondering, he touched the death-dewed hair; 

It was maiden fine, and the brow it was fair; 
Wondering, the hand that at last had freed. 
From gentle slavery, the reed. 

That silent reed to his own lips he pressed. 

And laid it back on the wanderer’s breast; 

“No beggar is this,” he whispered at last; 
“Unravel the mystery; read me his past!” 

A greybeard who came by the inner way 
Deep reverence made: “Thy pardon, I pray, 

O gracious King! for many a year 
The whole world has held this wanderer dear! 
To the mighty of earth he was welcome guest; 
The peasant’s cot gave him greeting and rest; 
For he wakened the dreams that forever will start 




44 


Little Legends of the Land 


When man listens back to the earth-mother’s 
heart! 

And the music that now thy memory thrills 
Is the sigh of thy valleys, the song of thy hills!” 

UEnvoi 

01 Prince, for’er in a foreign land. 

Our singers are blessed with the outstretched hand. 
And forever at home, ’tis the postern gate, 

And a crown, when dead in the halls of state! 
And ever the lips of the wise fools part. 

In mirth for the crown and a broken heart! 

God pity them all, in their poor blind need! 

But who will awaken that hollow reed! 



Little Legends of the Land 


45 


PELHAM 

Upon his sword in hero sleep he lay, 

Him for whom the world had held its breath. 

A stately whiteness swept his noble brow, 

A soldier dead, and still a boy, in death. 

The tribute-tear slips from the watcher’s eye. 
Into the shrouding moonlight on his bed 

As down the startled land there rings the cry, 
“Pelham! Pelham, too, is dead!” 

And Alabama shuddered in the night and slept. 
Till morn on whitened wings rose from the east. 

And men with whitened faces came and wept 
And stood like risen drunkards round a broken 
feast. 

And heard the legend:—how the hero heart 
Echoed the comrade call from balanced strife; 

How rode he, grandly, down the battle slope 
And smiling laid within God’s hand, his life. 



46 


Little Legends of the Land 


THE GRAY BARD ON MY TREE 

They mock, who call thee mocker, bird, 
My fond one silver-noted; 

Thine is the master minstrelsy— 

Thou art just rapture-throated 

With songs that save for thee were lost! 

By thy great art safe-crafted 
The voices of an Eden morn 
Are to our noontime wafted. 

Lo! when the lordly sun has passed, 

The dreamless depths of heaven 
Wear in their silent solitudes 
The gems their God has given: 

And when thy matchless song is hushed. 
Each marveling technician 
Within the wood, repeats some note 
Of thine, my gray musician. 

We write them dead, the winged sprites 
Of unknown hue and feather; 

Race, tribe, and form all vanished, quite— 
As from the highland heather 
The heroes of ten thousand fights 



Little Legends of the Land 


47 


Beneath their plaids are folded, 

The hands that grasped the sword hilts, 
And hilts, in dust long molded; 

But by the cot and castle door, 

A gray bard chants their story, 

And strikes a harp to unwrit songs 
That thrill with Celtic glory. 

And thou, gray bard, the wind harp by, 
Across Time’s haps and chances 
Dost bring the golden melodies 
And all the old romances 1 

I’ve heard thee in the moonlit pine 
Sing oftimes low and tender. 

As of some dove-eyed Juliet. 

In ancient feather-splendor 
Astride a twig with Romeo, 

Their sad souls there complaining 
The moon was failing them too soon. 

And naught the dawn restraining. 

And from the pliant elm tree’s bough, 
How oft thy laughter caroled. 

At deed of eagle Lochinvar 
Or maybe jaybird Harold! 



48 


Little Legends of the Land 


And many a time I’ve seen thee bow, 

With wings like elbows setting, 

And caught thy songs of one who moved 
In ancient minueting! 

What time the spring was greening on 
The joyous fields awaiting. 

And all the world was smiling out, 

And lovers shy were mating, 

I’ve drunk thy softest song afloat; 

Nor Sappho in her glory 

E’er sang of love so sweet, I ween. 

As that which themed thy story! 

But changed the note when home was built— 
The vulgar call it mocking. 

Because thou’dst sing old lullabies 
When midnight breeze was rocking,— 

And none might know, that oftimes there, 
When silent mate was swinging, 

Thou’dst soothe her fears and keep awake 
The olden ballads singing! 

Mockbird, indeed! Great teacher, thou. 

Each awkward neighbor twitting— 
Measuring bars for learning ones. 



Little Legends of the Land 


49 


To small throats low strains fitting; 
Correcting here, repeating there, 

As needs must singing master. 

And praised be God! it costs us not 
So much as one piastre I 



50 


Little Legends of the Land 


VULTURE AND SHADOW 

All the day long, we roam, we roam, 

My shadow fleet and I; 

His is the way of the land and the sea. 

And mine is the sun and the sky. 

But when the call of death leaps up 
My airy flight to greet. 

As friends around the feast and the board. 

We meet! we meet! we meet! 

Ah! none can read the signs we read. 

No eye may fathom the gales— 

No tongue may whisper our secret deed, 

For dead men tell no tales. 

The spot on the plains is leagues away, 

But our wings are broad and fleet— 

The wave-tost mote in the eye of the day 
Is far, but we meet! we meet! 

The voice of the battle is haste! oh haste! 

And down the wind we speed:— 

The voice of the wreck moans up from the deep—• 
We search the rank seaweed. 

The maid she lists all the livelong day. 




Little Legends of the Land 


51 


For the fall of her lover’s feet,— 

She wonders to see us speeding by,— 

She would die, if she saw us meet! 

L’Envoi 

Sweeping in circles, my shadow and I, 
Leaving no mark on the land or the sky, 
The double circles are all complete,— 

At the bedside of death, we meet I we meet I 



52 


Little Legends of the Land 


A GRAND OLD GENTLEMAN 

(i88i) 

I see him oft upon the street 
In simple garb arrayed; 

The suit is black, the coat swings loose 
With wide white cuffs displayed. 

Beneath his beard there nestles down 
A modest tie cravat 
And on his snowy head is set 
A great white soft felt hat, 

There’s nothing new about his dress 
To draw the curious gaze; 

Though neat enough, I often think 
It has seen far better days. 

But it matters not what its age may be. 

So grand his air and pose, 

I met the man a hundred times 
Before I saw his clothes. 

His form is straight, his shoulders square, 
He walks with martial tread: 

He looks the world straight in the face 
With proudly lifted head. 

And yet his bright brown eye is soft 



Little Legends of the Land 


53 


And kindliest courtesy 

Beams in the chastened face he turns 

In welcome unto me. 

And such a grace! To see him lift 
That white hat from his brow 
And bend to woman, quite rebukes 
The modern monkey bow. 

Ah well, from other days he comes. 

From the Manassas plain, 

From genVous wealth, the statesman’s hall 
And many a vast domain 
Where slaves wrought in the whitening field 
And in the ranks of corn. 

I saw the evening of that age. 

But he its noon and morn ! 

When the framework of his system fell 
And blood o’er his threshold ran. 

From out the wreck and gloom there marched 
The grand old gentleman:— 

Came with that whitened, chastened face, 
Came with that softened eye. 

And the courage that great as it was had failed. 
But was yet too great to die. 



54 


Little Legends of the Land 


I sometimes think as I see him stand, 

In far off revery, 

Resting his hand on the gold-headed cane 
With its legend complimentary, 

That his mind is back in the olden days 
With his soldier-sons asleep; 

That he hears the tap of the muffied drum 
And sees the eyes that weep. 

Else why the answering upward look 
To the blue of his Georgia skies? 

And why the dash of a hand across 
The blue of his closing eyes? 

A grand old gentleman, indeed! 

Some day o’er his humble bed 
A woman will bend with tear-stained face 
To kiss the brow of her dead; 

And her trembling fingers once more will tie 
The worn little black cravat 
And brush the soft stray silvery locks 
That have nevermore need for a hat. 

The people will come with bended heads 
To follow the funeral van. 

And they’ll whisper around the open grave, 
“A grand old gentleman!” 



Little Legends of the Land 


55 


DANDELION 

Sing ho! for the gay little warrior bold, 

Lord of the fields and greening! 

Sing ho I for the gay little warrior bold, 

With his kirtle to match 
And his collar of gold— 

Sing hey! for the proud little warrior bold. 
Brave-eyed Dandelion! 

O! it’s little he cares for the lingering blast, 

Or frost to the tall grass clinging; 

He strides at the head of a springtime host. 
With his heart on his shield. 

And his banner unfurled, 

And his bright face bared to a smiling world, 
Gallant Dandelion! 

And the blushing maiden bending low lifts 
Her sweet spring’s gay defender; 

And she gives him rest on her throbbing breast 
With his eyes unshut. 

And a will to dare,— 

01 who but the brave may win the fair? 

Would I were Dandelion 1 



56 


Little Legends of the Land 


MARGUERITES 

Out of the soil and the sod, your faces, 
Marguerites I 

Morning and noon to the Sun-God upsmiling; 
Blessing the summer with eyes all unblinded. 
Golden your diadems; robes, they are crimson and 
golden. 

Thrilling the hours! 

Not in the mansions of men who are worldly. 

Not in the temples of beauty; 

Not where the feet of unbrowned women 
Are sandaled away from God’s carpet. 

Their lily cheeks veiled from His glances. 

And their souls are drowned in the sighings 
Of pallid blooms wrought out of season,— 

But under the blue of the heavens. 

Under the dew of the heavens. 

Under day-dawns and day-dyings. 

In the heart of this unravished garden. 

Forgot of the pruner and binder. 

With the pink and the aster beside you. 

And the riotous sweet vines about you. 

And the silent laughter of blossoms. 



Little Legends of the Land 


SI 


Gladding the heart of the summer,— 

Here is your home, little sisters. 

Here is your home. 

Marguerites! 

One cometh at last and beholdeth 

And his eyes are upon your chaste beauty. 

He bears you away and he wears you 

An hour in the madness of passion 

And casts you aside when aweary; 

To die underfoot, without murmur, 

But kissing the hand that had brought you 
The marvelous gift of that hour 
’Twixt the blush of the rose 
And the white blush of death. 

Marguerites! 



Little Legends of the Land 


58 


HARRIET 

What is the baby like? They say 
This little girl of mine 
Is rosy as the peep o’ day 
And sweet-voiced as the pine. 
And has she blue, or black, 

Or soft gray eyes, you ask? 
Alas, they swim so deep in light 
To learn’s a hopeless task! 

And is she lovely? Ah, indeed! 

The pansy in the sod— 

The lily dreaming on the lake. 
Wrapped in the smile of God! 



Little Legends of the Land 


59 


SWEETHEART OF THE SUN 

There’s a land that loves a sweetheart, 
And she greets him every day, 

Her feet are flecked with ocean foam. 
Round her limbs the sea winds play; 
There are corals on her bosom. 

There are lilies on her gown. 

And where she meets her lover 
All the songbirds gather ’round. 

There’s a land that loves a sweetheart. 
And for him she spreads a feast 
When the Morn, beyond the breakers. 
Sets his banners in the East. 

There are luscious gold bananas. 
Orange blossoms in her hair. 

There are regal poincianas. 

There are citrus everywhere. 

And heaped-up crimson berries. 

Purple figs by fragrant bay, 

And the ibis by her fountains 
With the rainbow in the spray. 

Oh ! this land that loves a sweetheart, 



6o 


Little Legends of the Land 


She is such a bonny lass, 

The ships lag in the offing, 

And the clouds they hate to pass. 

There’s a land that loves a sweetheart, 
A fairy tropic land. 

With the wandering summer of the sea. 
Out beyond her silver strand, 

Her noonday gown is azure. 

But when evening shadows fall 
Her sweetheart stretches out his hand. 
And spun-gold covers all. 

And when she lies a-dreaming. 

On her couch between the seas. 

His moon-tides come to croon for her 
Their ancient lullabies; 

And lest the dark, too heavy. 

Shall oppress her dewy eyes. 

He lights a million lantern-stars. 

And hangs them in her skies. 

What ho! ye dwellers by the lakes. 
Where arctic blizzards blow! 

What ho! ye city freezelings. 

Who flounder in the snow! 



Little Legends of the Land 


6i 


Look up, the birds are passing, 

They have heard the thrilling call. 
That a sweetheart-bridegroom cometh 
And a feast is spread for all! 

And, for you, oh! weary toilers. 
Where the tasks are never done. 
And the best of life is wasted 
Ere its pleasures are begun. 

The wedding bells are calling. 

That there’s room for everyone 
In the land that loves her sweetheart. 
And whose sweetheart is the Sun. 



62 


Little Legends of the Land 


THE END OF THE ROAD 

Behind the brooding pines the sun 
Had sunk and folded up his rays, 

And a still twilight veiled the land. 

An old man sitting by the wayside fixed 

Me with strange and level stare 

The like of which had never compassed me before. 

“And who are they,” I asked, “whose ghostly camp 

Lies white on yon hushed plain outspread?” 

“They rest,” he said, “from journeying and sleep. 

The end of the road is here!” 

I bowed my head, and on the sod 
My careful feet gave out no waking sound; 
“Sleep on,” I whispered, reverently, “sleep!” 

And would have passed him by ; 

But he with softened eyes looked down 
And slowly shook his frosted head; 

“Farther, you cannot go,” he said. 

“And why?” 

“It is the end of the road!” 



Little Legends of the Land 


63 


“DAUGHTER OF THE KING” 

(To Mrs. Jenny Buckner Capers) 

Old Friend, across the sleeping years, 

Take our salute! There are no tears 
In thy brave eyes; blue-gray. 

They hold the clarity of skies 
At dawn of day, and ever shine 
With light that is divine! 

Would that their mystery were mine;— 

To have beheld great Jackson’s face, 

A picture as he lay in death; 

And Lee’s, the knightly Lee 

Blessed with the Old South’s dying breath; 

And plumed Stuart, swinging along 
Through mountain shadows with his song. 

And gay salute to dame and lass, 

Waiting to see their heau sahre pass 1 
Would that mine eyes might share 
Thy visions of the long gray ranks 
Sweeping the blue Virginian hills. 

And flash of angry cannon where 
Young Pelham hovers o’er their flanks. 

And the proud boast of blue-clad foeman stills I— 
The sunlight on the marching bayonets. 



64 


Little Legends of the Land 


Once seen no living man forgets!— 

The fiery cross, shot torn, 

By gallant lads still slanting forward, borne; 

Last gesture of the South’s superb cadets! 

Ah! would that all those dead men in gray. 

Could rise from out their glorious yesterday. 
And gaze across the radiant southern land. 

To where, undaunted, here, you stand 
With shining eyes, and lifted hand. 

Holding their flag unto thy sunset skies !— 

I think that every hero head would bare. 

That every gray cap toss in the air! 

For four long bloody years their banner waved. 
To fall at last! The cause was saved. 

By women who took up the fight. 

And brought the flag through sixty years of night. 

Old Friend, across the golden years 
Take our salute! There are no fears 
In thy brave eyes; blue-gray. 

They hold the clarity of skies 
At dawn of day, and ever shine 
With light that is divine! 

Our tributes to thy dear feet we bring, 

O glorious daughter of the King! 



Little Legends of the Land 


65 


WOOD 

A club of wood, and the first man’s cave; 
A box of w’ood and the last man’s grave. 

A shaft of wood, and a wooden bow. 

And a hempen string to make it go. 

A spear of wood, with flinty head. 

To strike the prowling wild beast dead. 

A raft of wood, by wood poles plied. 

To float dryshod upon the tide. 

A wooden prong for the hand of toil, 

To plant the seed, and till the soil. 

A wheel of wood from a fallen tree 
To harvest the grain crop cheerily. 

And haul the logs for the cabin home 
That man need not forever roam. 

And stately ships hewn from the oak. 
To sail the seas with adventurous folk, 
And carry far the Book sublime. 



66 


Little Legends of the Land 


To the hungry souls of every clime. 

Oh it’s wood, wood, wood, wherever we go. 
And everywhere under the passing sun. 
Where men at labor weave to and fro. 

Ere they finish the tasks that they begun. 
Every hand of every man. 

Has touched wood since the day began— 
Watch them close and you’ll find it so! 

Oh steel is good, and iron too. 

And other metals right handy are; 

But wood is the handiest thing in view. 

And oftenest used by far, by far! 

When you take your daily walk abroad 
See if the facts don’t all accord,— 

Count the places where you find wood 
In myriad forms by art made good! 

Did we plant the beautiful spreading tree?— 
Did we mine it deep in the cavern’s gloom? 
Gift it is, and always free. 

Oh lift your hat and bend your knee. 

It has fed and housed a lonely world 
And never a leaf of it unfurled, 

But gave of drink to a passing breeze! 

Aye bare the head, and bend the knees. 



Little Legends of the Land 


67 


God dwells among His wonderful trees, 
And none have sought for Him in prayer 
But kneeling, felt, and found Him there! 

A wooden club and the first man’s cave, 

A wooden box and the last man’s grave; 
And over the gulf that lies between, 

A bridge of wood with a roof of green. 



68 


Little Legends of the Land 


“THANK YOU” 

Oft in the stilly night, ere slumber’s chain hath 
bound me. 

And work for Underwood and me, has piled up 
all around me. 

When letters from the outer world have added 
to my duties,— 

Bills that have long been overdue, and dainty notes 
from beauties! 

Poems no one should have writ, submitted for my 
reading; 

And manuscripts to criticize, inclosed with plain¬ 
tive pleading; 

And inquiries for last year’s files, and special in¬ 
formation. 

About somebody’s great-grandpa who once fit for 
the nation; 

And facts of science, history of birds, and beasts 
and vermin. 

The whereabouts of no man’s land, the present 
price of ermine;— 

Oft in the stilly night, when these griefs all sur¬ 
round me, 



Little Legends of the Land 


69 


And thoughts of waiting printer-men float in to 
fret and hound me, 

I think I’d give all I possess to hear one kind word 
spoken, 

The music of some gentle voice, some spiritual 
token 

To lift me from a black abyss and rescue me from 
worry. 

And let me in a trance forget the urgent need of 
hurry! 

Ah! then I take my telephone and set the crank a 
turning 

An SOS across the night, to where bright lights 
are burning. 

And, “Number, please?” comes floating back, 
like some sweet strain from Eden 

To bring the solace that I crave, the comfort I 
am needin’. 

I give the number, adding too, “Excuse the hour I 
crank you!” 

Again returns the lovely voice, a two-word song, 
just, “Thank you!” 

How easy then my little tasks 1 Though midnight 
hour passes. 



70 


Little Legends of the Land 


I’m not alone, for just outside are all those “hello” 
lasses. 

Brave little souls that labor on, for self, and 
others earning; 

They keep their dauntless courage up, they keep 
the lights a-burning. 

They ask no odds, they’re on the job, they seek 
for no man’s pity.— 

Heroines of the day, the night, they guard always, 
the city. 


UEnvot 

Friend though by day, and though by night, black 
cares may come to hound you. 

Take thought of these dear sweetheart-girls who 
whisper to, and round you; 

Don’t let them, in true courtesy, in cheerfulness, 
outrank you; 

Don’t censure them for wire delays;-wait for 
that lovely, “Thank you!” 



Little Legends of the Land 


71 


BALLAD OF THE ROSE BOUND TREE 

Two lovers there were, in the days of old. 

Who dwelt in a forest far away. 

Where wild flowers bloom and fairies dance, 

And birds sing sweetly night and day; 

A knight with a sword and shining lance, 

A little maid with hair of gold. 

With lovers who loved in the days of old 
The fairies were never afraid to play; 

They wove them garments of eglantine 

And freed for them breath of the jasmine spray I 

Gave them blankets to sleep between, 

Jade-hued, shining with soft moon-gold. 

But once as they lay in each other’s arms. 

Wrapt in the bliss of fairy dreams. 

Out of a swamp an old witch crept, 

Through the shadows behind the soft moonbeams. 
And crooning evilly where they slept, 

Touched their lips with her deadly charms. 

Died she first, the lily-white maid! 

With breaking heart, and broken lance. 



72 


Little Legends of the Land 


Her lover buried her under the sod. 

And the fairies, halting their merry dance. 
Finding him there, his soul with God, 

Brought them again a cover of jade. 

There by the maid they planted a rose. 

With an acorn, too, by her lover’s side; 

And the acorn’s roots, they found his heart. 

But the rose reached down to the heart of his 
bride. 

Nothing could keep them long apart!— 

With his arms full of roses a tall tree grows I 

Two lovers there came from the days long dead. 
To dwell in a forest far away. 

Where flowers they bloom and fairies dance. 

And birds sing sweetly by night and by day,— 

A knight with an axe and a loving glance, 

A maid with gold on her lifted head. 

“Lo, here” he said, “we’ll build our cot. 

Build of logs from this rose-bound tree!” 

So he smote the oak till it crumpled down. 

And for many a day, most patiently, 

As it lay stretched out on the petaled ground 
And a cabin arose to cover the spot. 



Little Legends of the Land 


73 


Covered with blossoms the cabin stands, 

For the rose crept over and climbed the wall, 

And labored long with her magic art,— 
(Through ears that we know not far voices call.) 
Nothing could keep the lovers apart! 

Strength and beauty they still clasp hands I 

And sometimes I wonder if ever the dead 
Are lost unto us, awaste in the sod! 

The lips of the roses, they whisper to me. 

That beauty and love are immortal as God,— 
That the strength of my soul is the strength of 
the tree. 

That nothing’s behind us, but all is ahead! 



74 


Little Legends of the Land 


THE NEW YEAR 

In hoc signo—by this sign— 

A little stranger comes amongst us, 
Friends of mine! 

Some will hail him, imp of evil— 

Just a romping little devil— 

Some will see a tender love light 
In his bright eyes shine. 

Some will see him through their tears. 
Unlaid ghost of other years ; 

Some will see his smile divine. 

On his back he brings a pack. 

Which he’ll open every day; 

Gifts for all who work or play. 

Gifts of gold and jewels rare. 

Gifts of freedom, gifts of care. 

Gifts of sickness and of health. 

Gifts of poverty and of wealth— 

All are snugly hid away 
In that pack, alack, alack! 

Joy or sorrow, none may say 
What it will unfold tomorrow! 

Well, why worry? There’s no hurry; 
Funeral or wedding bell— 



Little Legends of the Land 


IS 


God is in His heaven above, 

God who doeth all things well, 

And his final gift is love. 

Grim the woodlands are, this morning; 

Chill the air was, at its dawning; 

And the dead leaves blow along 
The vistas where the lilting song 
Of thrushes filled the summer day; 

But the dogwood buds are swelling. 

Vaguely, yet most sure, foretelling 
The glad oncoming of a flowery May. 

Why, to worry is but folly! 

See, the unconquerable holly. 

And the smilax, and the long-leaf pine. 

Hold their color all undaunted by the cold— 
Keep their faith with springtime as of old! 
In hoc signo—^by this sign 
Their victory is both yours and mine. 

Life around us is but sleeping, 

God has all things in His keeping, 

God is in His heaven above. 

And His final gift is love! 

The bankrupt day dies in the mourning west, 
But on the eastern hills. 



76 


Little Legends of the Land 


And misty islands of the blest, 

The lordly sun pours out his ancient treasure, 
And there, two-handed and four-fold. 

Scorning weights and vulgar miser’s measure 
Pays his dead comrade‘s debts in gold. 

And in the woodland’s depths there is the sound 
Of whispering voices gathering round. 

And rhythms of fairy feet that from afar 
Come dancing along the pregnant ground 
Seeking the couches where the baby blossoms are. 
And in the coverts of the sheltering pines is heard 
The south’s gray-coated, white-barred bird 
Murmuring in measures of sweet rondelays. 
Dream-prophecies of reborn summer days. 

Let’s not worry, there’s no hurry; 

God is in His heaven above, 

God who doeth all things well, 

God, whose final gift is love. 



Little Legends of the Land 


11 


SEND HIM IN 

When ol’ Marster went off ter de wah 
He tuk me by de han’ 

An’ he say, “I mebby won’t be back ergain 
I leaves ol’ Missus en yo’ cyar 
An’ you must ten’ de Ian’ 

An’ keep my flock fum lightnin an’ de rain!” 

Dey bring ’im fum Virginny, 

Wid es po’ life shot erway, 

He’s buried out dar by de ol’ pine tree, 

An’ I scattered ev’y darkey what ast ol’ Miss fer 

pay, 

Till dere’s no one roun’ de settlement but me. 

But my ol’ Miss done promus dis. 

She’s never gwineter set me free. 

An’ when she jines de heavenly th’ong. 

She’ll tell dat angeul at de golden gate,— 
“Man, when my ol’ nigger comes erlong. 

Sen’ ’im in ter me!” 

Hit’s been er long an’ weary way, 

Fer my ol’ Miss an’ me. 

An’ hard ter keep de chillun movin’ straight. 

But we raise ’em mostly righteous 
Till de las’ one o’ de three 




78 


Little Legends of the Land 


Shuk de rice fum out er rustles at de gate. 

An’ we settle down ter dreamin’ of de pictures of 
our dead, 

An’ whisp’ren of dere voices en de hall, 

An’ we meant hit, lemme tell yer, when we prayed 
de Lord fer bread. 

An’ I thank ’im ’cause He let me fetch hit all. 

But my ol’ Miss done promus dis. 

She’s never gwineter set me free; 

An’ when she jines de heavenly th’ong. 

She’ll tell dat angeul at de heavenly gate,— 
“Man, when my ol’ nigger comes erlong. 

Sen’ ’ im in ter me!” 



Little Legends of the Land 


79 


THE MOST ANCIENT MARINER 
(As told by Eneas Africanus) 

Now little chillun gyether roun’ an’ keep yo’ eye 
on me, 

While I sings er song of ol’ Noray, an’ how he 
sail’ de sea 

En er boat he buil’, when de sky was bright an’ 
he call’ dat boat er Ark. 

An’ he buil’ es boat of hickory wood, an’ he stop 
de cracks wid bark; 

An’ he fill es boat wid stuff ter eat, an’ animals 
two by two. 

An’ de cloud come up, an’ de rain fell down, when 
Noray he done thoo. 

Oh, de waters riz, an’ spread eroun’, an’ kivered 
up de groun’; 

Dere’s water, water everywhar, an’ no Ian’ ter 
be foun’! 

An’ Noray come out on de deck of dat ’ar boat 
one day. 

But he ain’t know whether ter cuss erloud, or ben’ 
es knee an’ pray; 



8 o 


Little Legends of the Land 


Fer de turnip greens done all give out, an’ de 
collard greens is gone, 

An’ he honed mightily fer greens, expeshully green 
corn. 

Fer de sun was hot, an’ de Ark was hot, an’ es knee 
burn when he pray’d. 

An’ de houn’ dog lef’ de hot moonlight, an’ laid 
down en de shade. 

An’ down below, whar de animuls was, come er 
steady all-day roar, 

Dat rattl’ de panes in Noray’s room, an’ shuk es 
pantery door. 

“Oh, Lord!” ses he, “hit’s skeery times!” but de 
Lord look down an’ say, 

“When de sun is up you pray fer night, an’ night 
you prays fer day! 

Hit’s hard ter mek out what you wants, so I’m er 
sendin’ both. 

But all de thanks I hyah fum you soun’s mighty 
like er oath!” 

Now little chillun shet yo’ mouf, an’ lissen close 
ter me. 

While I sing er song of ol’ Noray, who sail’ de 
lonesome sea!— 



Little Legends of the Land 


8i 


He come out on de deck one day, an’ drapt es 
eye eroun’; 

Ses he, “de greens is all give out, an’ no Ian’ kin 
be foun’. 

Jim Crow, you got two mighty wings, you flies ter 
beat de ban’ 

Go stretch dem wings good Brother Crow, an’ find 
my glitterin’ Ian’!” 

Den Jim Crow stretch es mighty wings, an’ dey 
tuk ’im outer sight. 

But he never come back de whole day long, an’ he 
ain’t got back at night. 

Two times de burnin’ sun riz up, an’ two times 
hit went down. 

But dere ain’t no word fum 01’ Jim Crow, out 
lookin’ fer de groun’! 

An’ Noray wipe, es weepin’ eye, an’ bow es ol’ 
gray head; 

“Oh! Sister Crow,” he say, desso, “You’ ol’ man 
mus’ be dead I” 

But erbout dat time hyah come er mule, er dead 
mule, floatin’ by 

An’ on dat mule was ol’ Jim Crow, er settin’ high 
an’ dry. 



82 


Little Legends of the Land 


An’ Sister Crow she spread her wings, she spread 
’em broad an’ wide, 

She sail eroun’ ’im in de ar an’ drap down by es 
side. 

But Noray stomp an’ rush erbout, an’ shuk es 
tremblin’ han’, 

“Oh! you, Jim Crow!” he cry erloud, “whar is 
my glitterin’ Ian’?” 

“Yo’ glitterin’ Ian’,” laugh ol’ Jim Crow, “well I 
ain’t seen no groun’; 

I travels hyah an’ I travels dar, an’ no Ian’ kin 
be foun’! 

Move on! move on, wid yo’ ol’ boat, go sail de 
lonesome sea, 

Dis erhyah mule I’m er ridin’ on, is Ian’ enough 
fer me!” 

Wid dat ol’ Noray liked ter bust; he lif’ es voice 
on high;— 

“Jim Crow, I’m gointer hoodoo you, ter las’ ontel 
you die! 

All yo’ life you got ter roam, an’ roam, an’ roam, 
an’ roam; 

An’ never settle down nowhar, an’ never have no 
home. 

So travel on, you triflin’ runt, fer you an’ me is 
thoo. 



Little Legends of the Land 


83 


Des take ol’ lady Crow an’ go, you got mer bes’ 
hoodoo!” 

So Brother Crow ain’t got no home fum dat day 
ontel now; 

He loss es home, he has ter roam, an’ live des 
anyhow. 

He never sings, an’ he never plays, an’ he never 
settles down, 

An’ de gun hit fills es hide wid led, ef his foot hit 
tech de groun’. 

An’ when he cross dat cotton fiel’ an’ when he 
cross dat park 

You heah ’im say, day atter day, des “Ark” an’ 
“Ark” an’ “Ark!” 

Po’ old Jim Crow, no home, no mo’ he’s hardly 
fit ter kill 

He’s homesick fer ol’ Noray’s Ark, but de hoo¬ 
doo’s got ’im still!” 

Now, little chillun come up close, little Missy on 
mer knee,— 

YOU TOM 1 PUT MER GLASSES DOWN 1! 
—an’ lissen now ter me; 

Dar was er black man on dat Ark, an’ es only 
name was Ham. 



84 


Little Legends of the Land 


He was my great, great, great Gran’pa,—dat 
tells you who I am,— 

He waited on ol’ man Noray, an’ sarve ’im all es 
life. 

He bresh es coat, an’ he shine es shoe; an’ Cindy 
was es wife. 

Er white man writ dis story out, but hit don’t 
match up wid mine,— 

I gits de story straight fum Ham, who han’ it down 
the line,— 

or Noray call ter Sister Dove, an’ tuk ’er en es 
han’, 

“Yo’ wings ain’t long, but dey is strong, go find my 
glitterin’ Ian’!” 

An’ Sister Dove she coo an’ coo, and flew an’ flew 
erway. 

But she warn’t back when de sun went down, an’ 
she ain’t git back nex’ day. 

An’ Noray wipe es weepin’ eye, an’ cas’ er look 
eroun’; 

“Brer Dove,” ses he, “I’m mighty feared yo’ little 
wife es drown’ I” 

But Sister Dove, erbout dat time, come er sailin’ 
proudly in 

An’ folks dey run ter git de news, an’ hyar whar 
she done be’n. 



Little Legends of the Land 


85 


She circle roun’ dat Ark three times an’ drap on 
er winder sill 

The sunlight shimmerin’ on her breas’ an’ somep’n 
en her bill; 

“Noray! Noray! Noray!” she cooed,—I tell yer 
what hit means— 

“Noray, I foun’ yo’ glitterin’ Ian’ an’ hyar’s yo’ 
collard greens!” 

Wid dat er mighty shout went up, an’ when de 
word pass roun’ 

All dem animuls down below, dey make er pow’- 
ful soun’; 

Dey made er soun’ dat shuk de boat, an’ fa’rly 
split de a’r 

An’ shouted glory ter de Lord, an’ shuk ban’s 
ev’ywhar. 

x\n’ putty soon der come er bump, an’ de word hit 
pass eroun’ 

De boat done hit de mount’n side, an’ its nose 
stuck en de groun’! 

An’ out on top de pilot house, de rooster flop es 
wing. 

An’ strain es soul down ter de roots, er tryin’ fer 
ter sing,— 

“Noray! Noray! Noray!” ses he, “hyah is yo’ glit¬ 
terin’ Ian’!” 



86 


Little Legends of the Land 


An’ Noray, down on es ol’ knees, said “Glory ter 
de Man! 

I’m sholy proud de journey’s done, I’m sholy proud 
I’m thoo, 

An’ ef I had some extry meat, I’d give er bar¬ 
becue ; 

But ev’ything is two an’ two, de turkey an’ de 
b’ar, 

De hog an’ sheep an’ Billy Goat,—I ain’t got none 
ter spar’! 

I might, ses he, might do widout de rooster an’ 
de hen. 

He don’t do nuthin’ but strut erbout, an’ she ain’t 
laid er egg since when. 

“Oomhoo” he said an’ scratch es head, “I reck’n 
dat pair’ll do!” 

So, git erlong shore, you folks once mo’ an’ we’ll 
have er barbecue!” 

Now, little chillun, listen close, fer de song is al- 
mos’ done. 

Of Noray’s boat what sail’ de sea, forty days fum 
sun ter sun; 

For ol’ black Ham an’ Cindy too was er settin’ fish 
lines out. 



Little Legends of the Land 


87 


When news pass roun’ dat blessed day, what 
Noray was erbout, 

An’ dey bofe cut out fer de pilot house, an’ bofe 
reach up er han’ 

An’ dey snatch dem chicken off de roost and broke 
fer de glitterin’ Ian’!— 

Dey tuk dem chicken erlong wid dem, an’ I don’t 
cyar what’s de breed. 

Niggers own all de chicken dar is, cause de nig¬ 
gers dey save de seed! 



88 


Little Legends of the Land 


MAMMY’S LFL’ BOY 
Summer Rocking Song. About 11 A. M. 

Who all time dodgin’ in de cotton an’ de corn? 
Mammy’s li’l’ boy, Mammy’s li’l’ boy! 

Who all time stealin’ Ole Massa’s dinner horn? 
Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Byo baby boy, oh, bye, 

Byo li’F boy! 

Oh run ter es mammy 
An’ she tek ’im in ’er arms. 

Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Who all time runnin’ old gobble roun’ de yard? 
Mammy’s li’l’ boy. Mammy’s li’l’ boy! 

Who tek er stick an’ hit ole possum dog so hard? 
Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Byo baby, boy, oh bye, 

Byo li’l’ boy! 

Oh, run ter es mammy 
An’ climb up on ’er lap. 

Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Who all time stumpin’ es toe ergin er rock? 
Mammy’s li’l’ boy. Mammy’s li’l’ boy! 




MAMMY’S Ll’L’ BOY 































































Little Legends of the Land 89 


Who all time er-rippin’ big hole en es frock? 
Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 

Byo li’r boy! 

Oh run ter es mammy 
An’ she wipe es li’F eyes. 

Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Who all time losin’ de shovel en de rake? 
Mammy’s li’l’ boy. Mammy’s li’l’ boy! 

Who all time tryin’ ter ride ’e lazy drake? 
Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 

Byo li’r boy! 

Oh scoot fer yer mammy. 

An’ she hide yer fum yer ma. 

Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Who all de time er-trottin’ ter de kitchen fer er 
bite? 

Mammy’s li’l’ boy. Mammy’s li’l’ boy! 

Who mess ’essef wi’ taters twell es clo’es dey is er 
sight? 

Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 

Byo li’r boy! 



90 


Little Legends of the Land 


An’ ’e run ter es mammy 
Fer ter git ’im outer trouble, 

Mammy’s li’T baby boy. 

Who all time er frettin’ en de middle o’ de day? 
Mammy’s li’l’ boy, Mammy’s li’l boy! 

Who all time er gittin’ so sleepy ’e can’ play? 
Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 

Byo li’l’ boy! 

An’ ’e come ter es mammy 
Fer ter rock’m en ’er arms. 

Mammy’s li’l’ baby boy! 

Shoo, shoo shoo-shoo-shoo. 

Shoo, shoo, shoo! 

Shoo, shoo shoo-shoo-shoo. 

Shoo li’l’ baby shoo! 

Shoo, shoo shoo-shoo-shoo. 

Shoo li’l’ baby shoo. 

Shoo-! 

Dere now, lay right down on Mammy’s bed an’ 
go ’long back ter sleep,—shoo !— Look hyah, nig¬ 
ger, go way fum dat do'! You wake dis chile up 
wid dat jews op en I'll wear yer out ter frazzles! 
-^Sh-h-h-h— 




Little Legends of the Land 


91 


THE WICKED ONE-EYED COON 

Did you ever go a-hunting on a creek when you 
were young, 

Where the willows were a-weeping, and the wild 
grapevines hung, 

And the moonlight broke and spattered through 
the sweetgums all around 

And scattered shining silver on the oozy, grassy 
ground ? 

Where the pineknot torches sputtered, and the 
shadows danced away 

Like a lot of hoodoo witches out to have a holi¬ 
day 

And the hound dog was a-singing along a possum 
trail. 

His long ears flipping-flopping every time he 
jerked his tail? 

If you have, you’ll maybe listen to this little tale 
of mine 

Of a hound dog, and a darky, and a possum, and 
a pine! 

He was chanting halleluia, and the clock was strik¬ 
ing ten; 



92 


Little Legends of the Land 


A half a moon was overhead; the chanter was old 
Ben. 

I met him by the horselot gate, and I gathered 
from his talk 

That it was ’bout the time o’ night the possum 
loves to walk. 

And as he talked, his black face shone out in the 
torch’s light. 

And his teeth were like a graveyard in the darkness 
of the night, 

And old Bender, with a waving tail, went slowly 
slouching by. 

His wet nose giving every weed a howdy and good- 
by. 

Oh! the thrill of joy was in me as we started down 
the hill. 

And took the path that wandered past the ruined 
watermill. 

Where things looked awful ghosty, and every¬ 
thing was still! 

Then when the dark had swallowed us, and we 
stood beneath the trees, 

Ben told me of a peddler man that once upon a 
time 



Little Legends of the Land 


93 


They found out in the canebreak near, his face 
down in the slime, 

With his throat all cut from ear to ear; and a 
rope was round his knees. 

Where they “drug” him when they killed him. 
And his busted pack was by him. 

And since that day, said black Ben, no nigger, 
in the night. 

Would come around the awful place without a 
blazing light! 

For the peddler’s “hant” it was a wicked one- 
eyed coon. 

And the coon he ain’t particular, but he likes a 
half a moon. 

“Seen him? Lord, I reckon erbout five hunderd 
times! 

I wish the times I seen him I had that many dimes! 

Skeered? No, chile. I alius totes de hind foot of er 
rabbit. 

And every time I meets him here I des reach down 
an’ grab it!” 

But when I begged to see it, Ben felt down in his 
breeches 

And tugged so hard at nothing there, he busted 
all the stitches. 



94 


Little Legends of the Land 


And then he tiptoed down the path, a whispering 
me to come. 

For he’d forgot his rabbit foot, and left it way 
back home! 

Then right ahead we heard a cry; it was old Ben¬ 
der’s call. 

And then came Tag’s and Cooter’s; and ’way up 
over all 

The shrill, wild scream of little Sal, the half-breed 
rabbit dog. 

And we knew the pack was heading for a mighty 
blackgum bog. 

Oh, there’s music in the wild waves, and choirs 
in the trees, 

And far sweet melodies afloat on every passing 
breeze. 

And when church bells are a ringing I’ve wondered 
many times 

If the angels’ wings weren’t beating through the 
rythm of the chimes. 

But to be among the wild woods, in a torch’s wavy 
light. 

And hear the pack a-going down the valley in the 
night. 



Little Legends of the Land 


95 


And the far-flung whoop and cheering of an old- 
time darkey’s voice! 

You are welcome to the others—that’s the music 
of my choice! 

We found them almost frantic by a slender little 
pine. 

Ben pleaded rheumatism, and the climbing job was 
mine. 

So I climbed, and climbed, and climbed, almost 
into the top. 

Till the tree it got to bending, and there I had to 
stop. 

But the Thing the dogs were running, very much 
to my surprise. 

Was huddled in a bundle there, and right before 
my eyes. 

Then I shook the limb and shouted, till I saw the 
bundle drop. 

And heard it hit down in the mud with a sputter 
and a flop! 

Lord, such a row there was then, and shriek and 
moan and yelp! 

And over all the voice of Ben a praying God for 
help! 



96 


Little Legends of the Land 


Down, down I came a slidin’, but ten feet from 
the ground 

I clutched the tree more cautiously, and took a 
look around— 

The Thing had old Ben by the hand, and Ben he 
had the tree. 

And swinging from the Thing’s hind legs I saw 
the dogs, all three! 

And such a fuss I never heard, I laughed till I was 
weak— 

I laughed until my hold gave way! I came down 
with a shriek, 

Slapbank into the fracas, with the dogs on me— 
and Ben! 

But the Thing they all were tussling with, I never 
saw again. 

Ben shook me from on top of him and fled back 
to the mill. 

I snatched the torch from out the mud, and found 
him standing still. 

Sucking wounded fingers, and a-feeling in his 
pants 

For that lost rabbit foot which protected him from 
hants. 



Little Legends of the Land 


97 


When I asked him where the possum went, he 
looked up at the moon, 

And whispered: “Twarn’t no possum, chile; des 
dat same old one-eyed coon!” 



98 


Little Legends of the Land 


THE LAUGHING KING ON THE 
EASTERN SHORE 

My Uncle Tom he tells to me the stories of my 
Grandpa’s state, 

And all the heroes born up there and how they 
fought; it sure is great; 

But there is one that beats them all, I make him 
tell it o’er and o’er. 

It’s ’bout a jolly Indian, The Laughing King on 
the Eastern Shore. 

Potomac was the river’s name. It happened when 
the state began. 

And Pocahontas saved a man from her old daddy, 
Powhattan. 

The folks would take their boats up stream, with 
beads and threads and shiney pins. 

And when they met some Indians, they’d swap 
’em off for otter skins. 

But if they cross the river stream, they have to 
pay the Indians more— 

You couldn’t fool that fat old man. The Laugh¬ 
ing King on the Eastern Shore. 



Little Legends of the Land 


99 


Said they: “We’ll go a long ways up, where In¬ 
dians, they ain’t so red!” 

Said he: “You can’t put trust in folks who’ve gone 
three weeks and never fed; 

Them folks are hungry ALL the time; you better 
mind what you’re about— 

They’ll shoot you full of arrow holes, and eat 
you if you don’t look out!’’ 

You see he knew that crowd up there; he’d heard 
about them long before; 

He was a mighty wise old man. The Laughing 
King on the Eastern Shore! 

And so they rowed a long way up—each had a 
pistol and a gun— 

And tied their boats unto the shore, where trees 
gave out and grass begun; 

But hardly had they stretched their legs, and 
started out across a field, 

When, ZIP! an arrow whistled by, and WOW! 
their faithful nigger squealed. 

But not a savage did they see, though they could 
hear ’em whoop and roar— 

They wished that they had listened to The Laugh¬ 
ing King on the Eastern Shore. 




lOO 


Little Legends of the Land 


Back to the river bank they run—no use for pistol 
or a gun— 

And glad were they to reach the place where grass 
gave out and mud begun. 

They struck out down the other side, a rowin’ 
fast their heavy boats, 

With mud a-stickin’ on their pants, and arrows 
stickin’ in their coats. 

And when they saw The Laughing King, they 
didn’t stop, they were so sore; 

They passed him sitting in the sand, and laughing 
on the Eastern Shore. 

My Uncle Tom, he talks to me of Jackson, Lee 
and Washington, 

And how they licked the Britishers, and made the 
blasted Yankees run; 

But always, when the stories end, I say: “You 
know there’s just one more!” 

And then he smiles and tells about The Laughing 
King on the Eastern Shore. 



Little Legends of the Land 


lOI 


THE TRUTH AND APPOMATTOX 

It was an ancient African, 

And he stoppeth all of three, 

The other two were strangers here 
And soon left him with me. 

His hair was gray and on his face 
A million wrinkles crossed 
Until the plan God started with 
Seemed altogether lost. 

But he was born in Georgia, too; 

The difference in our skin 
Could not, at last, forbid the truth 
That somehow we were kin. 

For ’tis the scenes and songs and loves 
That shape the hidden souls; 

And kinship is the spirit bond. 

And not the blood that rolls. 

For him the mocking bird had sung 
O’er many a hill and dell, 

And he had loved, as I had loved. 

The old plantation bell. 

And heard across the cotton fields 



102 


Little Legends of the Land 


The velvet-throated horn 
Proclaim the nooning of the day, 
Or coming of the morn. 


It was an ancient African, 

And proud was I to be 
So close unto the bodyguard 
Of dear old Robert Lee, 

And hear the Appomattox tale 
With an eye-witness slant— 

How Grant swapped swords with Gen’ul Lee 
And Lee swapped swords with Grant— 

It made the scene so like to life— 

I heard Marse Robert say, 

“Well, Grant, I thought we’d better take 
ft. little holiday 

And give your boys a chance to rest; 

I’ve chased ’em ’roun’ so long. 

My heart just aches, and aches, and aches. 
I’m mighty ’fraid it’s wrong!” 


And how Grant wiped his weeping eye 
Once with a trembling hand 



Little Legends of the Land 


103 


And said, said he, “Don’t menshun it, 
I sholy understand.” 

And “Won’t you have a good cigar?” 


“ ’Twas pulled before ’twas ripe 
And rolled too far up No’th,” ses Lee; 
“I’d ruther smoke my pipe!” 


And how they talked and talked and talked. 

And sorter walked about: 

And Marse Bob said, “I’d like to know 
Just how us folks fell out 1” 

And Grant he said, “Your nigger thar— 

You ought to set him free!” 

But Marse Bob laughed: “Why, Grant,” says he, 
“That nigger thar owns me!” 

“He does, does he?” said Gen’ul Grant 
And looked me in the face. 

Till I begun to wonder if 
’Twas too hot for a race— 

I took a look at that man’s eye, 

I looked at that man’s mouth, 

I didn’t like that white man’s looks. 

So I broke for the South! 



104 


Little Legends of the Land 


It was an ancient African 
That left me happily 
And all the silver change I had 
He took away from me; 

But then, the tale of Grant and Lee 
I heard his lips relate, 

I’d heard a thousand times before 
But never got it straight. 




Little Legends of the Land 


105 


“A FENCE CORNER ORATION” 

Oomhoo, I hyah ’bout Ark’nsaw befo, 

An’ all dat Ian’ out Wes’, 

But hyeah ole Peter hoed es row, 

An’ hit’s mighty nigh time ter res’, 

I knows de white folks roun’ erbout. 

An’ de ole uns all knows me: 

When hard-time comes dey he’ps me out, 

Des de same as I warn’ free. 

An’ I hyah ’bout dat five dollers er day. 

An’ nuthin t’ all ter do. 

But ter shovel dirt on er railroad track 
An’ eat, when yer all git thoo,— 

I seen some niggers, be’n out dere 
Come er-hustlin’ back ergin. 

An’ I hatter gi’ um meat and bread 
Ter he’p full out dey skin 1 
Dey said de rations pow’ful skearce, 

De hen roos’ mighty high. 

An’ possum des ’bout hard ter ketch, 

When he go rackin’ by, 

T’ings way off yonner look mighty fine, 

But des you git up close; 

Gwineter see sup’n else ’ll mek yer wanter 



io6 


Little Legends of the Land 


Butt yer head ergin er pos’! 

An’ ’bout de time yer turn eroun’, 

An’ see how fur yer come, 

Some t’ings gwineter look mighty fine 
Erway ’long back to’rds home. 

Dis Ian’ ain’t like hit used to be— 

Nobody ain’t ’sputin’ dat: 

But hit’ll talk back ter de hoe, 

An’ keep de chillun fat: 

An’ sometimes guano ain’ gwine stick. 
Don’t keer wher’ you got um. 

But when hit wash down off de hill, 

Dere’s big corn grows en de bottom. 

An’ ef de crick git out an’ wash 
De guano plum on down. 

Hit gethers some erway ’long up. 

An’ sots hit on mer groun! 

Yes, sah, I larn er heap er sense 
Sence freedom turned me out; 

An’ sho’s yer born. Boss, hit’s all right;— 
De Lord knows what He’s erbout;— 

When cotton’s short, de corn hit’s tall, 

An’ when de hog meat’s high. 

I put’s nuther morgidge on ole mule; 

An’ he wuk hit out bimeby! 

But yer can’t larn des young niggers sense; 



Little Legends of the Land 


107 


Dey got ter larn dese’f. 

’T’ain’t what goes in meks white folks rich, 
Hit’s what sticks on de she’f. 

An’ some niggers ain’ gwine settle down, 

Don’t cyah where dey be: 

Dey c’n all put out fer Ark’nsaw, 

But dey don’t trabl’ ’long wid me 
Ole Mars’er’s buried out yonner by de plums. 
An’ ole Miss, she dere too; 

An’ my ole ooman ain’ very fur off,— 

An’ my las’ littl’ gal, Sally Lou. 

Don’t mek no diffunce whar some folks put, 
When dey race es all ben run. 

But somehow I ain’t wanter stray too fur 
Fo’ my las’ day’s work git done! 

Some er dese times, an mebby ’fo yer know, 
Gwineter hyah de Gabeul horn. 

An’ gwineter be er-stirrin’ ev’ywhar en de Ian’, 
An’ er heap er folks skeered, sho’s yer born: 
Heap er folks what tort deysel’ mighty good. 

Gwineter trimble en de traces an’ balk. 

An’ I wanter be whar I c’n sorter step eroun’ 
An’ hyah ole Miss when she talk I 
She mighty good ’ooman. Ole Miss was,— 
Ev’ybody roun’ heah knowed dat, 

An’ what she ses es gospel law. 



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Little Legends of the Land 


I don’t keer whar she at! 

Ef she shout fum de chariot er-rollin’ froo de 
gate, 

“Sen’ my nigger in ter me,” 

De angeul gwineter tetch es hat ter her. 

An’ I ain’ gwineter tell ’im I’m free. 



Little Legends of the Land 


109 


A TRAGEDY IN SIAM 

“The king of Siam, on being told that his eag¬ 
erly expected heir was a girl, expired suddenly 
from heart failure.”—Press dispatch. 

A king is dead in Siam, he has drawn his last per 
diem. 

And the flags are all at half-mast in the Kingdom 
of The Sun; 

A little queen is sitting, with a baby on her knee. 
But the baby on her knee, is a she and not a he. 
And there is where the trouble all begun. 

Her king was very lonely; one heir he wanted, only. 
To preserve his crown and sceptre from the 
honorable rust. 

And perpetuate the fame of his venerable name 
When the balance of himself was in the dust. 

By an ancient law of Siam, older far than ancient 
Priam, 

The flapper sex could never mount the throne; 
No girl could it inherit, no matter what her merit. 
She could not rule, and also roll her own! 



no 


Little Legends of the Land 


So ’twas very necessary, that something not called 
Mary, 

Myrtle, Gladys, Jane nor Alice, should be dropped 
into the palace 

When the friendly stork came planing down that 
way; 

But something that the aunts could adorn with 
little pants. 

And turn out in the palace grounds to play. 


Yes, the king was lone and sad, and he wasn’t half 
way bad— 

A pathetic little lad of rising forty-four; 

He had been to school in Britain, where the queens 
do their own knittin’ 

And the kings, they didn’t keep a harem, any¬ 
more. 


There they taught him the extensive wife-plant 
was expensive, 

And if he’d cut it out, it would save him coin, 
galore. 

So, society to please, he sent his surplus Siamese 
Wifelets back to mamma’s arms, once more. 



Little Legends of the Land 


III 


One by one, or two by two, he bade them all a 
fond adieu. 

And adjured them to remember, though they’d 
never meet again. 

That always he would miss them, and forever 
want to kiss them. 

And he wept, because it, honest, gave him pain. 

All, but one dark-eyed and shady, very classic, 
little zaidee,— 

Lakshmi was her name,—and in a burst of 
princely fun 

He announced, “Because she Lakshmi, I shall 
keep this little lady,” 

And the whole East trembled at the pun. 

Then he settled down to waiting, outside his one 
wife’s grating. 

For an heir to share the glory of his family, 
and fame; 

But the years of heirs were barren, and the king 
he fell to swearin’, 

“There is absolutely nothing, simply nothing, 
in a name!” 

And he spent a gold simoleon, for the Life of 
one Napoleon; 



I 12 


Little Legends of the Land 


And he studied merry England’s Henry, Num¬ 
ber VIII; 

The little queen he banished, and from the court 
she vanished 

And the King of Siam took another mate. 

Then dawned the fateful day, when the stork 
curved down that way. 

And to Papa came the nurse, something squirm¬ 
ing on her arm; 

And she giggled to the king, “Isn’t SHE a darl¬ 
ing thing,—’’ 

But paused in justified alarm: 

For the king was on his back, and his royal jowl 
was slack 

And a frozen horror glazed his rolling royal 
eyes; 

His dream of fame was shattered, though it very 
little mattered— 

Papa’s toes were pointing to the skies. 



Little Legends of the Land 


113 


COMING FROM THE FIELDS, i860 

This is a sunset song of negroes riding in from their work. One singer 
improvises ; the person named replies ; all join in the refrain, and then 
the chorus. The plan is indicated in the first stanza. 

1st Voice. Sister Mary dere ain’t no sun over 
yonner; 

Mary. An’ de hooperwill soon be erbout! 

1st Voice. Sister Mandy, dere ain’t no work up 
yonner! 

Refrain. An^ de hooperwill soon be erbout! 
1st Voice. De mule done turn an’ er walkin’ in es 
track! 

Mandy. An’ de hoecake soon be erbout! 

1st Voice. Dere’s water en de trough, and fodder 
en de rack! 

Refrain. An^ de hoecake soon be erbout! 
CHORUS: 

Look over yonner what I see; 

De Angels er callin^ me home! 

Look over yonner what I see; 

De angels callin^ me home! 

Sister Tempy de moon cornin’ up over 
yonner! 

An’ de banjo soon erbout! 

Sister Liza der ain’t no work up yonner! 
An’ de banjo soon be erbout! 



Little Legends of the Land 


114 


De time mos’ come fer ter heel an’ toe! 

or Morris soon be erbout! 

Er pattin’ wid es foot, an’ scrapin’ wid 
es bow! 

or Morris soon be erbout! 

Chorus: 

Look over yonner what I see! etc. 

Brer’ Alec dem taters is er growin’ up 
yonnerI 

An’ de possum soon be erbout! 
(Oomph 1 ) 

De coon track wet on top er de log 1 
An^ de possum soon be erbout! 
Dere’s possum en de tree when you 
heah my dog! 

An* dis nigger soon be erbout! 
Chorus: 

Look over yonner what I see! etc. 

Sister Calline you ridin’ mighty high 
up yonner! 

An’ Willis soon be erbout! 
(Laughter) 



Little Legends of the Land 


115 


Sister Calllne you look mighty putty up 
yonner! 

An* tv Hits soon he erbout! (Yes, 
Lord!) 

You Bill, why’ny ye git down an’ open dat gate! 
Boy, ef I hits you wid dese here lines u gointer 
think de lightnin’ got yer! Let dat mule go ’long; 
he know de way ter de trough! Hoi’ de gate open. 
Git up Scott! 

Dere’s grease en de pot an’ de hoecake’s 
done! 

An’ fat meat soon be erbout! 

An’ I’m mighty glad dis day’s w’ork 
done! 

An* fat meat soon he erbout! 

Chorus: Look over yonner, etc. 

Sister Tilley de cows en de laine, up 
yonner! 

An’ de milkpail soon be erbout! 

Sister Tilley de calf is er callin’ up 
yonner! 

An* de milkpail soon he erbout! 



ii6 


Little Legends of the Land 


rm ergointer hang dis bridle on de rack! 
An’ er loose mule soon be erbout! 

(Loose mule: HONK-E-HONKE-E-E-HONK- 
ERHONK-ERHONK-ERHONK) 

Go ’long Brer Mule an’ waller on yo’ 
back! 

An^ er loose mule soon he erbout! 

WHOA SCOTT! Mule, ef dem heels hadder 
hit me I’d er bust’ yer wide open! Bern er mule, 
anyhow! 


CHORUS: 

Look over yonner what I see; 

De angels callin^ me home; 
Look over yonner what I see; 
De angels callin^ me home! 














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